


Bon Appétit

by awake0rdreaming



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Chef Minho, Chef Thomas, Dom/sub Undertones, I've worked hard on it, Inspired by No Reservations (Movie), M/M, please give it a chance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 11:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19131586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awake0rdreaming/pseuds/awake0rdreaming
Summary: After an incident, the restaurant's Head Chef gets sent to a mandatory week long therapy session and when he gets back, he finds his replacement has taken over his kitchen. He could have handled this hurdle a lot better if it wasn't for the fact his new colleague is so. damn. attractive. Add feelings and a blackout, and things just got a whole lot messier...





	Bon Appétit

Thomas stared at a vase in the corner, blue tinted with pink similar to the shine of a pearl or bubbles. There was a single stemmed rose in it, a perfect fit due to the narrow mouth, though with the water almost drained down, Thomas doubted it would remain that way by tomorrow.  
  
Eyeing the sunlight filtering through the glass, Thomas’ vision blurred as his mind jumped to a dish he was trying out. The problem was with the sauce, and much depended on the base.  
  
“White or red?” Thomas broke the silence that stretched the first part of the hour. He could tell patience was running thin by now. He was surprised and impressed it took this long, since it was their sixth session.  
  
“Thomas,” the man sitting across from him said, a voice between rasp and a whisper, soft but with an edge, “I understand you don’t wish to be here. To be frank, I don’t want to be here, either. I would much rather be at the Bahamas, than sit with an immature twenty-seven year old acting like a seven year old child. You’re wasting both of our time. You can start making it up by telling me why you lose your temper, when a customer has a negative statement about your cooking,”  
  
“Only asking for an opinion, Janson. I would ask people of my caliber but I was forced out of my kitchen for five days strai—“  
  
“—In which time, I need an assessment of your mental state,” Janson’s tone remained unchanged, which annoyed Thomas.  
  
“I’m not crazy!”  
  
“That is debatable,” Janson said mildly.  
  
“I’m not a lunatic…”  
  
“I need proof,” he regarded Thomas with a look that communicated the chef wasn’t going to leave without giving him something, as he took a bite of the experimental appetizer Thomas had brought over for their session. Janson’s face turned thoughtful, “It needs salt.”  
  
Thomas nodded absently, “Noted,”  
  
“Well?”  
  
Thomas pursed his lips, counted to five in his head, and looked back at his—ughh—therapist.

“I haven’t thought of setting myself on fire today.” He could feel the other man’s eyes on him, assessing, trying to figure out if he was joking.

“You always think about setting yourself on fire?”  
  
“No. Last week was an ‘accidental’ knife accident,” Thomas air quoted.  
  
“So what happened today?”  
  
“Last night, I dreamed I was successful. A funeral timing was set but no one came. Not a single one and well…that was depressing enough.”  
  
“Do you feel like breaking anything?” Janson sounded cautious. Thomas understood, he had after all brought up a topic that required cation.  
  
“No. I’m just…no,” he shook his head, “It’s true isn’t it? Would you come to my funeral?”  
  
“That would depend on what else I was doing that day.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“Thomas…” Janson sighed capping his pen, “I thank you for finally opening up to me, but before we continue, there is something I feel you should know,”  
  
“You are secretly a cross-dresser, I know.” Thomas deadpanned.  
  
“I’m being serious.”  
  
Thomas crossed his arms across his chest. Janson’s tone hadn’t changed to one of urgency, it was the same as it always was. It never changed—was he…maybe he was a robot. That would explain that tasteless suit Janson had donned today. He might as well have blended with the couch.  
  
Thomas struggled to focus, seeing just a hint of a man wanting throw something at _him_. “Okay?”

“It’s about Ava,” Janson started, and Thomas sat up in his seat, already ten times alert than a second ago. “Ava didn’t send you here for your sake but something else, which she did not disclose to me. She believes I owe her for giving me my start and as grateful as I am, my abilities are why I have the recognition I have today—something I’m sure you understand.”  
  
Thomas nodded, he _did_ understand. Ava had given him his start too.  
  
“Like I said, I don’t know what she’s planning, but I believe she is using me to spy on you—probably even to state you unfit for your position. What I do know for sure, is that you have a lot to work on as far as your attitude is concerned, among other _numerous_ things. But I refuse to continue treating you under these circumstances.”

Thomas was shocked at the revelation, but oddly not surprised. There were a lot of snakes in his family after all…It was shockingly a long list. “So what…are we done?”  
  
“No. I’m going to sign this,” Janson pulled out the form that stated Thomas fit to go back to work, “but the next time we meet, it will be in a less pretentious setting.  
  
“In the meantime, you and I both know what you need to work on. Be nicer to people Thomas and maybe, just maybe one of them will attend your funeral.”  
  
Was that a smile? Wow miracles did exist…The side of Thomas’ lips quirked upwards, as he read the report before handing it back to Janson to seal in the ‘confidential’ envelope.  
  
“Easier said…” Thomas muttered as he got up to put on a light jacket. Autumn was upon them already.  
  
“How did she die?” Janson asked behind him. Thomas paused in buttoning his coat and turned around, impressed. The man was good. Or maybe he hated Ava as much as he did.  
  
“Food poisoning,” Thomas grinned as Janson laughed.  
  
“I’ll see you soon, Mr. Editton.”  
—  
Thomas left in high spirits after giving Janson a detailed description of how he would execute his scheme. The interesting thing was: he felt lighter, liberated after sharing his fantasy. That lasted until he stepped into his kitchen from the back entrance of course.  
  
The place was busy as was the norm during the afternoon, but what shot his mood was spying someone he didn’t recognize. Janson’s words rushed back to him as he stared at the back of the stranger.  
  
One by one the staff noticed his presence and all activity ceased in the kitchen, that only drove the suspicion deeper. Before the new guy could even turn around however, Thomas was out the front door, heading straight towards the owner of the restaurant.  
  
“Ava,” Thomas said softly, getting her attention.  
  
“Thomas!” Thomas reveled in seeing panic in her eyes. Good. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon!”  
  
“Well I’m actually just stopping by. Janson told me to give you this,” he handed her the envelope with the letter determining his mental state. “Now I’ll be coming at my usual time tomorrow and by then, I want a clean explanation of why there is a stranger in my kitchen, wearing _my_ apron. You have yourself a great day, Ava.”

With that, Thomas strode out of the restaurant, and took a left randomly stepping into one of the competition restaurants across the street. He was seated immediately, the place not as busy as theirs.  
  
Perhaps it was because the place had a hipster feel to it, which brought in a specific type of cliental. He liked it. They had somehow managed to keep the grungy interior but mixed it with classics like frosted glass, with flowery patterns on them, creating a beautiful blended atmosphere.  
  
Looking at the menu, Thomas leafed through it until he came upon the one dish that spoke for the others.  
  
“I’ll have the **Chef’s Special** ,” Thomas said as soon as the waiter put a glass of water down on the table.  
  
“Would you like anything to drink, sir?”  
  
  
Thomas anticipating the question, said, “I’ll have the Cabernet Sauvignon,”  
  
When his meal arrived, Thomas couldn’t help picking it apart—call it an occupation hazard. The thing was, it was perfect. From presentation to the last bite. When the check came, Thomas leaned towards the waiter with a smile. “Will you please pass my compliments to the chef? It was absolutely delectable,”  
  
“And who may I say..?” the waiter sounded a tad distracted, eyeing his hefty tip.  
  
This is what Thomas had been waiting for, “Thomas Editton,” he said smoothly, enjoying the astonished look on the waiter’s face. “Have a wonderful day, Stefan.”  
  
He couldn’t help the broad smile as he sauntered out of the restaurant. It felt good to be known. If Ava thought it would be easy getting rid of him, he had a surprise for her.  
—  
It was a beautiful day out, Thomas couldn’t remember just taking a stroll through the city. The first thing he always did was going to the market early in the morning. After that it was off to work, leaving later than everyone else, trying new dishes sometimes if he knew he could get away with it.  
  
He’d always loved cooking growing up, and unlike kids his age, he spent more time in their tiny  kitchen with his mom. The space hadn’t felt constricting but freeing; his imagination filled with creative ways to utilize familiar flavours and less about fighting dragons. He never got the feeling like he was missing out on a part of life, but now walking down a crowded sidewalk, he wondered.  
  
Digging hands in deep pockets, Thomas walked on eyes on the pavement as he thought of one of the exercises Janson had tried to get him to do: _Reflection_.

The first time Janson suggested it, Thomas thought it was bogus—why waste time thinking about the past. The more sessions they had, the more he realized why the ability to do so, was good for him. Unfortunately, the understanding had come from a painful food metaphor from his therapist.  
  
He had always been quiet as a child but no, he had friends all through school. Maybe not necessarily having tried making friends, because people tended to gravitate towards him, adopted him into their group circle, and he didn’t actually have to do anything. No, these were ‘surface’ things, it had to be deeper than that.  
  
The thing in question being his utter lack of being able to make human connections. When did it start? What started it? When did he stop caring? Who was it that influenc—  
  
Thomas stopped abruptly, causing the person walking behind to stumble into him. It was like he’d suppressed that time of his life away, but there it was. And there was so much of it. All his troubles seemed to come from that—and Thomas didn’t know how much reflecting he would have to do in order to sort out the fuckload because of _him_.

Pulling out his phone, he looked through recent calls list, finding the number he needed, “Yeah. So…what are you doing Thursday evening? Yes, I’m aware it’s Wednesday. Yup. Yeah, I can do that. Not the time th—Okay fine, yeah thanks.”  
  
Thomas hailed a cab and went home.  
—  
The first break in routine felt weird, it becoming second nature at some point, waking up so early. He resolutely did not get out of bed, despite his body clock waking him up at 4. However, his resolve only lasted five minutes before he went to brush his teeth, and headed out to City Fish Co., albeit shopping for himself. He’d been meaning to try bringing freshness to popular dishes. His self five years back would have scoffed at making fusion dishes, but he saw the appeal now.  
  
Everyone in the seafood section were familiar with his habits, tastes and preferences, and there was a huge side of him that was smug about them keeping the best for him. Technically he was still on leave, but with Janson’s go ahead, he was back in his kitchen.  
  
A surprise awaited him however when he arrived at his usual time. His replacement was already there, intent on something in front of him.  
  
Thomas couldn’t help himself, his eyes gliding down to the chef’s delectable backside, his rolled up sleeves showing off impressive biceps and Thomas suddenly felt the urgent need to go home afterall. How was he supposed to survive this?  
  
‘He’s probably straight,’ he thought bitterly, willing his eyes back to what looked like silky hair, probably soft to the touch an—  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Thomas breathed. Steeling himself, he cleared his throat to get the guy to turn around and when he did? Thomas groaned inwardly, because it just wasn’t fair. Who gave him the _right?!_

 _‘_ Hi’ is what he meant to say. That was not what came out however. “This is _my_ kitchen, so _my rules._ No moving things around, no giving orders without my say so. I decide what you can make, and absolutely no wearing my apron, got it?” Thomas didn’t even wait for a response before striding out of the kitchen, entering the interconnecting door to Ava’s side office and waited for her to enter—giving her a fright when she did.  
  
“Thomas!” Ava clutched her chest in fright.  
  
“You know Ava, I didn’t think you had it in you, sneaking around like that, pretending to be all concerned.”  
  
“Thomas—“  
  
“You know if you wanted me out, you could have just said so,”  
  
“I was going to tell you,” Ava rushed in, before Thomas could take another breath.

“When?”

  
“Soon,”  
  
“Soon like after Janson declared me unfit, or soon as it yesterday?”  
  
Ava sighed heavily, “You needed time off, and the restaurant has been busier this time of the year, you know that. I needed more help.”  
  
Thomas didn’t say anything at first. He might have believed her too, if it wasn’t the fact that she had hired someone so quickly. “You used to be a better liar, Ava.” Thomas walked out before Ava’s sputtering turned into actual words. He was so done with her excuses. __  
  
Entering the kitchen, more staff had arrived at this point and Thomas caught the new comer’s eye once, before ignoring him for the rest of the day. In the short time he had been here, the new guy had already made changes—playing music and chatting all the while working, which begrudgingly he was good at but Thomas wasn’t used to the additional sounds and this change rattled him. That fact was, the new chef was at equal rank to him, so he couldn’t even pull that on _him._ Ignoring everyone and everything, Thomas sunk into his work.  
—  
The day seemed to go on forever. As it had progressed, Thomas took back the kitchen, but pointedly didn’t look in the direction he was sorely tempted to.  
  
This was the first time he had been instantly attracted to a man…if it wasn’t for Ava trying to replace him with this stranger, Thomas would have hated him for his looks alone. The work day was finally over and it showed how upset he was that Thomas couldn’t wait to get out of there.  
  
As soon as the cleanup was done, Thomas hung his apron on the hook and shot out, making a beeline for his car, when he heard footsteps from behind. Resigned to having to talk to _someone_ before he could drive home, Thomas turned and leaned against his Honda.  
  
Black eyes met brown, and they fell into some type of staring contest because it felt like each was willing for the other to start. Thinking about his session with Janson, Thomas closed his eyes briefly and took a calming breath. _Be nice._  
  
Reopening them he said, “I’m Thomas. Thomas Editton.”  
  
“I know who you are,” his new colleague grinned, and Thomas bit back a harsh comment at the tip of his tongue and allowed him to continue, “I’m Minho,”  
  
“Minho…” Thomas repeated, looking at the keys in his hands before glancing up again, “Hi.”

“Hi.” Minho was still grinning, like this was the funniest thing ever. Well it wasn’t okay? It was very challenging trying to be nice. Thomas didn’t do people, he’d never known how—he did food. Though he would looove Minho to do hi—  
  
“Anyways!” he said loudly to drown out his own thoughts, “See you tomorrow I guess.”  
  
“I guess,”  
  
Thomas narrowed his eyes. It sounded like he was being mocked. When searching Minho’s face however, he didn’t find any signs of that, and yet he had no notion to move. ‘What was he waiting for?’ Thomas thought irritably, ‘An apology?’  
  
Oh.  
  
“About earlier…”  
  
“Don’t hurt yourself. It’s okay,” That comment alone and Thomas knew his staff had shared some of his _quirks_.  
  
Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose, “No, it isn’t. It was—“ he ran a frustrated hand through his hair causing it to stand up weirdly. “I’m—it was very rude of me, I know…I was in shock and angry and I unfairly took it out on you and for that, I’m sorry. I’ve never been good at the whole…” he gestured between them, “…talking thing.”  
  
“Just good with your hands?” Minho stated and Thomas blinked. Why did that sound sexual?  
  
“Yeah, exactly.” Why did his voice come out so breathy? Minho was totally checking him out, he realized suddenly, a slow slide up and down his form, or maybe he was trying for condescending and Thomas’ dirty mind was messing him up. Thomas flushed brightly, knowing which one he wanted to be true.  
  
“I have to go…”  
  
“Got a date?” Minho cocked his head to the side cutely. Urgh, no _not_ cutely.

“What?” Thomas cleared his throat when it sounded high-pitched, “Uh, no. An appointment,” He didn’t know why it was important for Minho to know he wasn’t attached. Cross that, he did know. He had to get out of there.  
  
“Bye.”  
  
It was abrupt but people Thomas didn’t do people, okay?  
—

 


End file.
